


Hide my tears in the rain.

by MrsRidcully



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Caring Derek Hale, Cuddling, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Drinking as an unheathy coping mechanisim, Good Alpha Peter Hale, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not going to lie this starts pretty angsty, Sad Stiles Stilinski, Sharing a Bed, Steter Secret Santa 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRidcully/pseuds/MrsRidcully
Summary: After years spent successfully dodging werewolves, evil spirits and wendigos, it was a drunk driver who stole his Dad, a drunk driver with a suspended license and a record sheet as long as Stiles’s arm. Stiles would have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been so busy screaming.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 42
Kudos: 575
Collections: Steter Secret Santa 2019





	Hide my tears in the rain.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Udunie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/gifts).



> This has been both the most nerve wracking and exciting thing I have done, equal parts of please any small god listening help me write and some deals made with nefarious demon types.
> 
> As always love and eternal gratitude @Bunnywest for her Ninja comma and Beta skills
> 
> Udunie you have always been a inspiration and a favorite of mine I just hope in some small way I was able to convey how much you mean to this fandom

Stiles held the phone balanced on his shoulder while he poked through the fridge. “No I get it Scott, it’s a long drive. “He tried to control the tremor in his voice, hide his  desperation. ”It’s just - it’s Dad’s birthday, and when you couldn’t make the funeral you promised you’d be here.”  Stiles’s stomach was queasy and the fridge was mostly bare anyway. He couldn’t be bothered going to the store, or even eating, since – well, since. Scott’s voice droned on as he rambled about Vet school and the Montana Pack he had made overtures to, how he had a meeting that was too important to miss \- really it shouldn’t have been a shock to Stiles that Scott had turned his back on Beacon Hills. What had been left of their friends had slowly drifted off - Lydia had been accepted into Harvard, no shock there. She’d stayed to help Stiles settle John’s estate and would have stayed longer, but Stiles refused to have her miss out on her first weeks as a Harvard student because of him.

Grabbing the bottle of Basile Hayden down, he poured a heavy slug into a coffee mug. Taking a drink he shuddered, the burn of the bourbon a counterpoint to the dull ache of abandonment in his chest. “Yeah, Scott. No problem. I’ll call you later. Gotta go.” Stiles was getting good at faking cheerfulness , even as disappointment settled in his gut like lead .

Stiles disconnected the call and carried the bottle over to the old recliner. Sinking into it, h e found himself chasing the lingering smell of his Pop’s aftershave, remembering the sound of his dad's voice as he sat here yelling at a game on the TV.

John 's funeral had been a month ago.

After years spent successfully dodging werewolves, evil spirits and wendigos, it was a drunk driver who stole his Dad, a drunk driver with a suspended license and a record sheet as long as Stiles’s arm. Stiles would have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been so busy screaming. The day of the funeral the heavens had opened, a storm the likes of which Beacon Hills had never seen. Stiles felt it was fitting that the heavens should grieve while he couldn’t. Anger and loss had constricted his heart so tight he was barely able to breath. If he cried, showed any weakness, then it would be real, he would drown in his grief. So instead, he wore it like armor.

Chris, Derek, Cora and Peter all understood grief, knew the profound loss that Stiles had suffered. They did not judge his silence, just formed a shield around him. They were caring, but discreet. They were sympathetic without being condescending, did their best not to smother him, but Stiles could see the ill hidden worry behind their eyes. 

At night, when the quiet of the house made Stiles want to scream, he would don his sneakers and run, run through town down dark streets, losing himself to the monotone slap of his sneakers against the pavement. He would run until his muscles screamed but his mind was silent, jogging home as the morning sun was just peeking over the horizon. A Hale was always following - a silent four-legged shadow glimpsed out of the corner of his eye. Sometimes he would see Chris sitting in his SUV, another silent guardian. Stiles often wondered what they were protecting him from - danger, or himself.  Not that it mattered -he was just one more  item on the  list of things the Hales had to  keep watch over.

Tonight, the Hales were all occupied, meeting with the remaining members of a small vampire clutch who wanted protection and safe sanctuary. The Stiles of old would have begged to go along to meet with the fabled blood drinkers, but tonight he was just relieved that he would not have his lupine guardians dogging his steps. He’d been counting on Scott’s visit, had stupidly thought his so-called friend would make time. He ha d been clinging to the  idea of them visiting his father’s grave together , but no, apparently even his best friend didn’t think he was worth it.

Maybe he wasn’t.

Rolling his head, he saw the picture on the mantle of his parents, Stiles held in his dad’s arms. They all looked so happy, but that was gone now. Stiles was the last one standing.

God he missed them.

Thunder rumbled ominously. Tonight was not the night for a midnight run, but Stiles had never been very good at sensible decisions. The house was too oppressive, the memories too close to the surface, painful and raw. Grabbing the bottle of bourbon and taking another swig, he stalked out the front door.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

What in the devil ’ s name had gotten into that  idiot  boy's head? Peter got to Stiles’s house and found  him gone, the house left open. The scent that Stiles left behind was a miasma of grief and alcohol. Hidden under that was  the soft scent that could only be described as Stiles - once  P eter worked through the sharp tang of of Adderall, hormones and bad aftershave, well. Stiles smelt like _ home.  _ Peter cringed internally, hating how contrived and sentimental that sounded, even in his own head.

The storm was rolling in fast . Peter didn’t need his werewolf senses to tell him that. Where the hell would Stiles have gone in this weather? His jeep was parked, the repairs still ongoing, so wherever he had gone it, was on foot.

Not the loft. 

Stiles seldom ventured there unless dragged by Peter or Derek, and he doubted he would have gone to see Melissa. Besides, she was out of town for the weekend with Deaton. It was an unlikely friendship, but they both seemed to benefit from the others’ counsel. The Druid had become less taciturn, almost affable with Melissa’s guidance, and Melissa had found a confidant and an understanding shoulder to cry on, a listening ear to rant to, when having to deal with her idiot son. Deaton had had a rude awakening when his boy wonder had turned his back on Beacon Hills and its problems. Deaton would never be a Hale Emissary again, but he had earned a place in their small pack as a friend.

Would Stiles have gone to Chris?

No. Stiles still carried so much guilt about Allison that he was never truly comfortable around the man, he wouldn’t seek him out for comfort. Chris had gone to great lengths to show Stiles he held no ill will, but Stiles was haunted by his past actions. Besides the hunter wouldn’t be there. Peter let himself smirk - the hunter would be at the loft making moon eyes at Derek. They really were disgustingly cute. 

“ Dammit  Stiles, where have you gone?” he muttered, exasperated. Peter unlocked the door to his car and slid in. Pushing the key fob, the engine purred to life as the rain started to patter heavily against the windshield.

He drove through Beacon Hills, barely glancing at the only diner that was still open. Stiles barely ate these days, much to Peter’s annoyance - he didn’t think the boy would have gone there. The library was closed, as was Majority's Magical Emporium. Pulling the car over to the curb, Peter let out a low frustrated breath, attempting to rein in his worry. Instead he let his thoughts focus on the embryonic pack bonds that had started to form between the three remaining Hales and those they considered Pack.

He followed the glowing bonds in his mind. Derek's were thrumming, sending soft pulses of contentment. Threaded close to Derek's bond, Cora's rang bright and sharp, just like his young niece. Isaac’s wound around hers, muted but still strong. He focused harder, picturing the non-wolves of the pack. Chris’s bond was light and controlled but wrapped around Derek's. Peter snorted but drew his thoughts back, focused on Stiles. The bond was delicate, almost not there. The boy had tried to close off the ties to the pack - afraid, Peter suspected, of letting them know just how much he was hurting. 

Peter was nothing if not a persistent Alpha, so he honed in, eyes snapping open when he located his packmate. Stiles was at the graveyard, and if what Peter was getting through the bond was right, drunk out of his mind and crying his heart out. 

That wouldn’t do at all. That stubborn little ape had closed himself  off  long enough, and it was time to take steps. Peter put the car into gear and headed towards the cemetery, the rain continu ing to come down in depressing splats. Peter pulled the car into the parking lot and squinted through the windshield.  U p to the left, just under the large oak, sat  John and Claudia's graves. Getting out of the car, Peter paused to grab an umbrella from the back seat. Stiles was going to be soaked through.

Walking up the small slope, the scent of Stiles’s grief was almost overpowering, even the pelting rain not enough to diminish it. Peter stifled a growl when he saw Stiles draped over the still fresh sod of his father's grave. He was drenched though and out cold. The wet hair plastered to his skull resembled an otter's coat, and his fingertips were caked with mud, as if he’d been digging. A half empty bottle of bourbon lay alongside Stiles, and Peter kicked it aside as he bent down to pick him up. 

Honey eyes flickered open, but they held no focus. Mumbled words tumbled out of Stiles’s mouth, a choked sob. “I want my Pops back,” he whimpered before shivering, and Peter frowned, noting that his body was dangerously cold. 

“Hush now, pup. Let's get you back to the car.” Peter dropped down to one knee to lift the boy.

Stiles blinked.  _ “Peter? _ ”

Pulling Stiles against his chest , Peter stood. “Yes sweetheart, its me.” Stiles lay his head against Peter’s shoulder, still shivering. Pulling him tighter, he strode towards his car.

“Peter, I’m ‘lone. Got no one anymore,” Stiles slurred into Peter’s shoulder, he waved one arm wildly then passed out again. It took all Peter’s skill to wrangle Stiles into the passenger seat with a seatbelt around him, but finally he managed it. Pulling his phone out, he dialed Derek, 

Derek answered on the third ring, sounding his usual charming self.  _ “What?” _

_ “I found Stiles drunk and half frozen at his father's grave.”  _ Keeping his voice low, Peter slid into the driver's side, checking his sleeping passenger.

“Shit, is he OK?” Derek’s concern was clear in his tone.

“ _ No _ Derek, he is  _ far _ from OK.” Peter could not keep the snarl out of his voice. He knew Derek didn’t mean to be obtuse, but right now Peter really didn’t have a well of patience.

“You know what I mean, Peter!” 

“I do know.” Peter looked over at the sleeping boy – well, man, really. 

Stiles had turned 20 last month, just weeks after his father’s death. Peter remembered- it had been a miserable time, with a hollow-eyed Stiles sitting with his jaw clenched tightly as they went through the charade of cake and good wishes, as if good wishes could do a damn thing for Stiles now. 

Peter had been tempted to kick everyone out of the loft, encourage Stiles to rage and scream, but he'd suspected that if he called any attention to his fragile state, Stiles's stoic facade would shatter, and he knew the boy well enough to know he’d never forgive Peter for exposing his weakness. So he'd played along, and pretended not to notice the glassy sheen to Stiles’s eyes, the quivering lip, as they’d fumbled their way through the sorry excuse for a celebration.

Shivering and curled up in Peter’s passenger seat now, Stiles didn’t look twenty. He looked like a lost little boy. Peter reached across the back and pulled his jacket back over the seat, laid it gently over Stiles.

“What are you going to do?” Derek asked.

“I’m going to take him to my place. He needs someone to actually look after him, he needs to see that I -  _ we _ care for him.” Peters heart skipped a little. He had spent so long keeping his ill-advised crush on the impossible brat buried deep down that the slip caused a moment of panic.

Derek's soft laugh was a surprise “You like him. You're not as subtle as you like to think you are, you know that right?”

“Lies and slander!” Peter hissed back down the line.

“ You have it bad, I get it.” Derek gave a soft chuckle. ”Just, take care of Stiles OK? And, I don’t know, maybe...talk to him?”

“Thank you for your concern nephew, maybe you should take you own advice with a certain hunter.” Peter adjusted the coat around Stiles's shoulders and sat back, smirking at the picture in his head of Derek with his eyebrows drawn in a frown of doom. He really did love his nephew, but he made it just too easy to tease him.

Derek sighed. “Just look after him. I’ll call tomorrow.”

Peter looked over again at Stiles, family ripped apart, alone and adrift. Peter remembered those feelings well, but his impossible boy had helped heal the wounds the three Hales bore, had helped them mend fences, become a family again. Peter desperately wanted to do the same for him.

“All right  pup, get some sleep. Kiss Cora and tell her I love her , but she needs to get to bed.”

Derek snorted in amusement. "Using pack bonds to snoop on your pups? Sneaky, Alpha. Get Stiles home and we’ll talk tomorrow.” 

______________________________________________________

Peter drove towards his condo, going as fast as he dared given the inclement weather, trusting the car and his skills to get home as fast as possible. Stiles needed to get warm and rest, and then once he was warm and safe Peter would yell at him.

Peter pulled into his parking spot, the head lights of the car illuminating the building casting its glow in the trees shaking violently in the wind. The storm was going to be a doozy, much like the one that had hammered Beacon Hills for days after John’s funeral. There were some interesting parallels there, but they could be investigated later. For now, he had to get Stiles upstairs and dry.

Stiles gave a soft snuffle as Peter lifted him but didn’t wake, obviously exhausted both physically and emotionally. Carrying Stiles like a new bride, Peter strode to the door of the condo. Richard, the doorman, saw Peter approach and buzzed the door open, raising an eyebrow.

“Do I want to know why you’re carrying an unconscious man into your apartment?” Richard crossed his arms and gave Peter a hard look. 

“No need to worry friend, I found Stiles out in the storm. He’s had a hard time of it lately and I’ve decided to bring him home.” Peter went for the honest approach; he saw a softening of the doorman's craggy features and sympathy flash in his eyes. Everyone in town knew the hell Stiles had gone through, and contrary to the what Stiles thought, plenty of people cared.

Richard smiled, eyes glinting with amusement, “So under that layer of asshole is a heart? Well I’ll be.” Richard walked over to the lift and called it down, choosing to ignore the glare Peter shot him.

Stiles snuffled and burrowed against Peter’s shoulder, he could feel faint shivers running through him. Striding into the lift Peter bumped the button for the Penthouse floor and the doors slid shut. Peter got to his front door and realized that carrying Stiles the way he was, he couldn’t get to his keys. He flipped Stiles so the young man hung over his shoulder, and like this Peter could get his keys out.

Stiles’s shivering increased, and Peter noted how low his body temperature was. Striding through to his en-suite, Peter sat Stiles gently on the floor. The boy's eyes fluttered open.

“Whaat you doin’?” Stiles slurred. 

“Sweetheart, you’re close to frozen. I want you to get in the shower and warm up, then bed.”

Stiles gave a dazed nod, tried to stand, and promptly crumpled back down, a faint blush tinging his lovely cheeks. He tried again, but it was a lost cause.

Peter frowned. He saw no other choice. “Stiles, I’m going to wash you. I promise I won't take advantage.” Well at least not until later. Perhaps he’d consider it when his sweet boy was sober and not half frozen.

Tired honey eyes blinked up at Peter, the frown slipping from Stiles face, replaced with an almost lost look, “Oh. OK. Trust you.”

Peters heart gave an extra hard thump at that admission. He was damned well going to make sure he kept that trust. He leant forward and turned the taps on, letting the water heat up. “Ok sweetheart, let's get you out of those wet clothes.” With a bit of maneuvering, Peter was able to pull the soggy sweater over Stiles’s head. He threw it into a soggy heap on the floor, the T-shirt coming off next.

Stiles’s skin was deathly pale and he was shivering. Holding his hand on Stiles’s hip. Peter helped him out of his sodden jeans and underwear. Peter ran a warm hand down Stiles’s flank. He could see the ghost of blue veins underneath the skin, and now Stiles was naked Peter could see the weight loss. He growled low in his throat. “You, my impossible boy, need to eat more.” He squeezed gently on the cold, bare flesh under his hand.

Stiles just looked at him with mournful eyes. Shaking his head, Peter helped Stiles get under the water. Peter wasn’t blind, couldn’t help but look at the young man in all his naked glory. Though Stiles was thinner than he should be from not eating, Peter noticed the still solid muscles of Stiles chest and the dusting of dark hair around his nipples. Such pretty nipples. Letting his gaze slide lower, he smiled. Nestled amid soft brown curls Stiles had a pretty cock, soft and shy and hiding from the cold. _Don’t be a creeperwolf._ Peter could almost hear Stiles’s voice in his head scolding him, and he smirked. He adjusted the flow of water and turned back to Stiles just in time to stop the him from falling face first into the tiled wall.

“Oh, for f - no Stiles, stand still.” Stiles continued to flail and pinwheel drunkenly while Peter attempted to hold him steady. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right, fine. I'm getting in.” The boy struggled a bit more, wobbling dangerously. “Relax, I'm just going to wash us both, nothing more.” With one hand steadying Stiles and leaning him against the wall, Peter stripped down as fast as he could, moving into the warm water.

Peter wrapped a strong arm around Stiles to keep him steady and started to wash him with a washcloth, gently wiping away the dirt and grime. There was something unspeakably sad about the way the grave dirt clung to his fingertips, as if reluctant to leave him. Stiles opened his eyes and watched the water swirl down the drain, giving Peter an unreadable look. He surprised Peter by leaning into his grip, and he let out a soft sound when Peter started to wash Stiles’s hair.

“That feel good sweetheart, hmm?” Peter let his fingers play with the dark silky strands. Stiles had let his hair grow, and Peter had to admit he liked it. It was just long enough to grab a handful. 

_ Mind out of the gutter,  _ he reminded himself.  _ Now’s not the time. _

Stiles let out a deep sigh as Peter rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. His skin was going from its chilled bluish-white to a lovely pale pink. “I think you’re warmed up sweetheart, time to get dry.”

Turning the taps off he led Stiles out, grabbed a large soft towel, and started to dry him. He was surprised to hear another soft sigh from Stiles, who wore a melancholy smile.

“Reminds me of when I was little. Mom would always towel my hair till it stood up all over the place.” The wistful look on Stiles’s face made Peter ’ s heart constrict. This damn kid. He'd been through so much already. Pushing away the maudlin thoughts sharply and arranging his features in a smirk, Peter rubbed Stiles hair briskly. Pulling the towel away, he let out a sharp laugh.

Stiles’s hair stood on end like he had been electrocuted and his face was  flushed red. Peter couldn’t resist - he booped Stiles on the nose, “That’s much better. Your mom had the right idea,”

He was rewarded by a small but genuine smile from Stiles.

Wrapping a dry towel around Stiles’s waist and another around his own, he led Stiles through to his bedroom. Stiles, while no longer as drunk as he had been, was fighting with exhaustion and the after-affects of an evening spent crying and sleeping on his father’s grave.

Depositing Stiles at the end of the bed, Peter walked around. Pulling open drawers, he produced two pairs of light cotton sleep pants another drawer yielded two light tees. Coming over to Stiles, he held them out.

Stiles looked dumbly at the proffered garments and Peter had to smile at the sleepy, baffled expression on the boy's face. Letting out a breath, Peter got his arms around Stiles and lifted the boy to his feet. He smirked at their positions - were it another night with a sober and less hypothermic Stiles, Peter would be enjoying this. But tonight, he had to push the carnal desires aside and look to the boy’s comfort.

Tapping on Stiles’s ankle , he looked up at him. “Lift your foot, sweetheart.” Stiles obliged , a hand coming to rest on Peter’s shoulder to balance himself as Peter helped him into the pajama pants . Standing slowly , he pulled  a white t-shirt on over Stiles’s head . The wet ,tousled hair and the lost, mournful  look in Stiles’s eyes made Peter want to pull the boy into his arms and never let him go.

“Oh, what the hell,” Peter muttered and did just that. Pulling Stiles into his arms he held the boy tight to his chest. Peter pressed his nose to the soft strands of Stiles’s hair and started to rock gently.

Stiles clumsily wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist, burying his head against his shoulder. Peter continued to rock Stiles slowly, running his hands softly up and down Stiles’s back and letting to boy soak in his warmth. Giving into temptation, he pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’s hair.  And that one act of affection was all it took. Stiles let out a muffled sob and the floodgates opened, weeks of unshed grief pouring out in a wave of ugly crying and incoherent ranting. Peter held him tight through it all, wanting Stiles to know that he was here, would always be here, that Stiles could finally let go of the grief that had been poisoning him.

Slowly, the torrent of tears lessened and Peter kept rocking Stiles, occasionally pressing a kiss to Stiles’s head. He had managed to maneuver them so that Peter sat on the bed with Stiles still in his arms. Stiles breathing slowed and his scent cleared, the bitter grief that had fogged it lifting slightly, letting more of the boy's natural scent break through.

Peter hummed a soft tune while he rocked Stiles , then softly began reciting the words . Stiles’s head turned slightly so he was looking up at Peter , listening  intently  to the words of the  rhyme .

_ There _ _ was an old wolf in the night _

_ Whose  _ _ teeth were still sharp as a knife _

_ All  _ _ the animals dashed _

_ And _ _ tried to run past _

_ But _ _ his claws snatched them each out of sight _

Stiles let out a soft giggle, his eyes still damp  with tears , but  having got a bit of their spark le  back .

“That is kind of a scary nursery rhyme...specially coming from you.” Stiles laughed softly, leaning his head against Peter. The boy sat up suddenly looking apprehensive. “Shit, I'm sorry Peter. I just cried all over you. Bad enough you had to drag my drunken soggy ass back to your place.” Stiles went to stand but Peter gripped him tightly about the middle.

“Hush and sit still, youre nice and warm now, and I refuse to let you get that cold again.” Peter pressed another kiss to Stiles’s forehead, earning a muffled squeak from the boy.

“As for the nursery  rhyme, well it was one of the pup's favorites when they were little - a cautionary tale by Aunty Emmy...she was the werewolf equivalent to Mother  Goose.” Peter gave Stiles’s hair a soft tug.

“Peter , why are you doing this?” Stiles voice was a quiet  whisper . “Am I some sort of Hale Pack project?”

“Not at all, sweetheart. I care about you Stiles. We all do, you’re very important to the pack.” His heart _screamed mine, protect, Mate._ It had taken Peter a long time to admit the last one, yet it made sense of all the feelings that only Stiles inspired in him.

Lifting  himself up with Stiles still in his arms , he grunted a little . “You know , this was easier when you were still 147  pounds  of sarcasm.”

“I wasn't very likeable then , ” Stiles murmured .

“On the contrary. I found you delightful, if somewhat frustrating at times, and your father was immensely proud of you.” Peter hugged Stiles tight before depositing him at the head of the bed. He had already pulled the covers back so did not have to move him about too  much to get them settled under the warmth of the quilt.

Stiles had his back to Peter’s chest and stiffened a little when Peter draped an arm over him.  “Do you really think Dad was proud ? I lied to him so much.”

“Yes I do. He knew you had your reasons, and I think deep down he understood that you lied to protect him, and also to protect the pack.” Peter tightened his grip around Stiles and was rewarded with Stiles burrowing against him.

“I just miss him so much .  I don’t want to forget him - what he looked like, how he sounded.” 

Peter knew that pain well. He would sometimes hear a laugh that sounded like Talia’s and feel that cold pain when he turned and it wasn’t her. But he was also now able to remember the good times with fondness, to enjoy those happy memories.

“One day sweetheart , you’ll be able to think back on him and it  won’t hurt as much I promise, and you will never forget him, he was your father.” Peter let himself enjoy the warmth of the body alongside him, toying with the idea of asking Stiles to stay for a few day . It would make him feel better knowing he could make sure  Stiles was eating and sleeping, and maybe help him share his grief.

“Peter , why are you doing this ? ” Stiles sounded sleepy, exhaustion pulling  him towards sleep, but also dropping his carefully  raised walls.

How much truth to tell? With his senses surrounded with Stiles’s heady scent and his arms wrapped around his mate, Peter’s heart and head were fighting it out. “Because it’s the right thing to do. You’re pack, sweetheart.” Peter went with honesty, but not the whole truth. The way Stiles tensed in his arms, it obviously wasn’t the way to go.

“So I _a_ _m_ Pack project 101.” The bitterness in Stile’s voice was thick, and Peter needed to nip this in the bud now.

Sitting up, he gripped Stiles chin in his hand and held it firmly, looking him in the eye. “We all care about you Stiles, you are so much more than a project.  But I will admit my feelings run in a slightly different direction.  But I refuse to discuss it now, it will just confuse and upset you more.”

Stiles ’s eyes narrowed and he glared , “ What, you’re trying to tell me the great and  sexy Zombiewolf  _ likes me _ _? _ _ “ _

Oh, this boy . “Stiles , I’ve always liked you . I find your mind and personality delightfully challenging, and the older you got the more appealing you became.” Peter could see the shock and disbelief waring in Stiles’s eyes .

“Why didn’t you say something ? ” Stiles still didn’t believe him - Peter could see it in the way Stiles looked at him.

“Your father, he knew. He and I had a talk a few months after your 18th"

“Did Dad threaten you?” Stiles was  obviously  interested , despite his  skepticism.

“Actually, no. Your father was a perceptive man, a good father. He and I had several long talks, and we both agreed I wouldn’t try to court you until you had at least two years of college under your belt.He wanted you to see what the world had to offer, and I agreed.” He loosened his grip on Stiles, but he didn’t move away, instead nestling a little closer.

“I remember Pops asking me about you, about why I liked hanging out with you.” Stiles blushed at the memory.

Peter felt a warm bubble of affection well up . “And what did you tell him?”

“That you annoyed the shit out of me, that  you’re too smart for your own good, and that you  aren't as evil as you want everyone to think. And  that  I was in love with you” Stiles  muttered.

“I'm not sure if I  should be pleased or offended.” 

“You know, I'm kind of pissed at you and Dad. You both talked about me, about stuff, without me knowing. You both tried to control my life.” Stiles pulled away, his face going hard.

“No Stiles, listen to me. Your father was in the right. I had no right to try and court you back then. You had- _have_ - your whole life in front of you. We both wanted you to experience life outside of this damn town,” Peter huffed, wanting to pull the boy back in for another hug. The glint in Stiles’s eye told him it wasn’t a smart idea.

“What about what _I_ wanted, did either of you think about that?” Stiles scooted out of bed and started pacing. “You both decided for me, and never once talked to me about it. Did either of you think that maybe I didn’t want to leave, to go away to college?” Stiles took a deep breath and looked at Peter. “I was so goddamn miserable there. I missed everyone. I hated the classes.” Stiles’s gaze grew distant. “I missed you _so_ _damn_ _much_.” 

“Oh , sweetheart . ” Peter stood up and walked towards Stiles , but the boy put his hand up .

“No! You both decided what was good for me , only it wasn’t . I lost out on time with  my dad I could have had,  and  maybe if I ’ d been here and not at  school he wouldn’t \-  ” Stiles  slumped onto the ground , the day's events and his emotional outburst finally taking its toll.

Willing to suffer Stiles’s wrath, Peter knelt down and scooped him up, carrying him back to the bed. “I'm so sorry pup, we only wanted the best for you. Why didn’t you let John know how unhappy you were at school?” Peter asked softly.

“Didn’t want to disappoint him, or you.” Stiles said quietly , turning his head away from Peter. He could feel the tremors that shook Stiles’s body, the soft  huffs of breath as Stiles tried to hold his tears at bay.

“You blame yourself for your father's death,” Peter sighed . “Of course you do.”  He could hear the stuttering blip of Stiles heart .

Soft words were not going to get through to Stiles. The guilt and grief had twisted up in each other until they combined to make a tangled mess of Stiles’s head and heart. Peter knelt up and roughly pulled Stiles up, so he was kneeling in front of him. “I understand something about self-recrimination pet, and guilt, but you, you shouldn’t feel guilty. Your father's death was a horrible, stupid, accident, and the man responsible is locked behind bars. You didn’t drive the car that hit John, nor did you make the driver drink before he got behind the wheel.” Peter>’s hands gripped Stiles’s chin firmly, his control slipping.He knew his eyes were glowing. “Are you going to argue with your Alpha, sweetheart?” 

Stiles tried twisting his head away . “You're not my Alpha.”  But there was no real belief in his words , and Peter could hear the uptick in Stile’s heart rate.

“Lies, sweetheart. Your heartbeat, the look in your eyes, tell a different story.” Peter could see that Stiles was weighing his words, but the mental walls Stiles had built after John’s death were putting up a fight. Letting out a deep sigh, Peter released Stiles chin.

“If you can only believe one thing Stiles , believe  me when I tell you that  your father and I had your best interests at heart. You made your father so proud, and I am very proud of you , my clever boy . ” Peter lay down , watching the rise and fall of Stiles’s chest .  Stiles let out a quiet breath and lay back down facing Peter, his whisky colored eyes  locking onto Peter ’ s. “I'm still  mad at you , ” Stiles murmured , but it lacked the earlier heat.  Peter stifled a grin when Stiles let out a jaw cracking yawn.

“Sleep, sweetheart. We have plenty of time to talk in the morning.” Peter lifted his arm, allowing Stiles to either pull away or move closer. He felt a surge of warmth when Stiles chose to move closer. He wiggled and moved about until his back was against Peters chest. Stiles let out a breath. “You're going to be insufferably smug if I ask you to hold me, aren't you?”

Peter grinned against Stiles hair . “Only a little bit . I promise  to gloat quietly and not disturb your beauty sleep.”

Stiles went quiet, and Peter listened to the steady breathing of the boy in his arms, just enjoying the warmth that was starting to radiate off Stiles’s body. Stiles rolled over, his eyes trapping Peter with their intensity.  Gone was the slightly drunk, befuddled gaze. The look in the boy’s eyes was the one Peter had fallen in love with over the years - the calculating, mischievous look. “You know, I’m still waiting.”

“For what, sweetheart?”

Stiles slapped Peter ’ s chest lightly . “Jesus , Creeper wolf. This is t he part where you say  ‘ Hey Stiles , I guess  now  you know . I like you and want to  werewolf date you,” Stiles poked Peter in the chest again , “And I'm sorry I made you think for the last two years that  I only liked your brain , and not your smoking hot body!” 

Peter pulled Stiles so their bodies were pressed together hip to chest . “Sweetheart , I ’ m truly sorry, but you know deep down your Dad and I were only trying to do  what was best. and  Yes, I do still  want to werewolf date you.” Peter took the initiative and pressed a  kiss to Stile’s uptilted face . “You know courting is a lot more than that , right?  T his is why your  father wanted me to wait.”

Stiles nodded and rested an open palm on Peters chest.  Peters heart, that traitorous lump, skipped a beat at the warmth in Stiles gaze. “It means no take backsies, it means you’re it for me and vice versa.” Stiles’s eyes lit up with humor, and Peter grinned. Oh, he’d missed that look. “I mean, I may still ogle Derek's ass from time to time, but it's from a purely aesthetic point of view. I mean come on, the werewolf gods gifted you guys with great assets, man!”

Peter let out a great whooping laugh. “I won't hold it against you darling. Mind you, Christopher might.”

Stiles raised a brow and Peter let out another laugh. “I wasn’t the only one your father gave the shovel talk to. I believe he scared Chris worse than any werewolf could. His words, or so Chris told me, were _‘_ _be honest and true to that boy or I will shoot you with your own gun and make it look like an accident_ _.’_ The threats he used on me were no less colorful or painful sounding _._ ”

Stiles eyes filled with unshed tears . “He was always looking out for us . I  think he would have adopted Derek if he could.” 

“He was a good man Stiles, and he loved you very much. I know he would have hated how his death affected you. You need to grieve, but not let that grief define you.” Peter held Stiles closer. “Don’t let yourself get lost in it. We need you, we need your sarcasm and wit, we need your unstoppable brain. And – and I need you.” Once the floodgates opened, Peter couldn’t hold back, “I need you to help me be the Alpha you and the Pack deserves. I need you to stop me from wanting to strangle Scott when he comes to visit. I need to hear you laugh at me when I make stupid decisions.”

Stiles looked at Peter and it felt like the boy was staring right into his soul, his full lips twisted into a soft smile . “You really do love me.”  T here was a sense of wonder in Stiles ’s  tone, the disbelief gone.

Peter let out a low growl and kissed his boy. It wasn’t soft, wasn’t sweet. It was greedy, forceful, as if to show Stiles how much he needed him, wet and sloppy and perfect.

Red kiss - swollen lips quirked  up  in a soft smile . Peter  kissed those lips again , nibbling softly on the plump flesh of Stiles ’s lower lip . “I do Stiles , with all of my heart.” 

______________________________________________________

_______________________

For the first time since John died , the overcast sky let in faint glimmers of sunlight , and t he breeze had lost its cold edge . Peter looked over at Stiles , who was knelt before his parents ’ grave , placing  tigerlilys upon  h is mother's headstone .

“I know you wanted me to get away Pops, I understand why you and Peter did what you thought was right, but the thing is, I need to be here. I need to be with the pack and Peter, that’s the right thing for me.” Stiles stroked his father's headstone and continued, “Peter loves me Pops. I love him too. I mean yeah, we’re going to fight and disagree on shit, but you and Mom taught me it was ok, that just because we fight doesn't mean we don’t love each other. I miss you so much it hurts, but that’s okay. I’m not alone, and missing you isn’t a bad thing. I love you guys so much, wish you could see the new pack house we’re building. There’s so much room. Derek and Cora have rooms, and Peter and I have a huge bedroom, and the kitchen, Mom you would love it. And Dad? I'm going to join the Sheriff’s department. I want to do this. And I hope you’ll be proud. Jordy says I’m not the worst candidate for deputy he’s ever had to train, so that’s something right?”

Standing . Stiles brushed the leaves and dirt o f f his jeans and reached out to take Peter ’ s hand , squeezing it Stiles turned back to his parents ’ graves . “Peter asked me to marry him , and I said yes,”

Peter felt the wind swirl around them and light scents of bergamot and lily tickle his nose, the breeze seeming to make the air around them dance with light and soft sounds. Stiles smiled, tears glinting in his eyes. “I think we just got their blessing.”

Fighting his own emotions, Peter looked at the graves. “I promise I’ll always love him and will try to keep him safe, but we know this is Stiles and there is always going to be some reason for me to save him. Between you and me, I rather think he likes it when I do.”

Stiles let out an indignant squeak and slapped Peter’s chest playfully. The air around them seemed to fill with a soft woman's laugh and a deeper masculine chuckle.

Peter wrapped his arms around Stiles and just held him close , letting the soft winter sun warm them and savoring this moment , looking forward to spending the rest of their lives together.


End file.
